


Death City Curse

by KeybladeBanditJing



Series: Secluded Spaces [3]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeybladeBanditJing/pseuds/KeybladeBanditJing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lemme guess,” he sighed, sounding resigned. “Come to call me a freak too?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death City Curse

She found him at the basketball court at lunch. He was just standing there, looking out over the empty soccer field, bag slung over his shoulder, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he stared off into space. She watched him for a moment, having never really gotten a good look at him, just hearing about him by all the main gossips in her classes and glancing at him in passing. He wore a black leather jacket over an orange T shirt, khaki pants, and simple black shoes. He didn't look like anything special, and yet everyone seemed to give him hell just because of the last city he lived in.

She never believed him to be anything like the school seemed to think he was, and as far as she knew, he never did anything to confirm the rumors, no matter how true or reliable some people claimed them to be. He just came from a place where some people were... different... and they automatically assumed he had something wrong with him. She had many times heard the phrase “Death City curse,” and while she had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about, she had never heard it referred to in that way, like it was a bad thing, and it made her a little angry, both for her papa's sake and for the sake of the boy in front of her.

She was about to step forward and introduce herself when he suddenly turned to face her, bored crimson eyes staring at her levelly from under a shock of bright white hair, only barely held in place by a thin black headband that seemed to be shoved on as an afterthought more than anything else. He raised an eyebrow at her, whether out of curiosity or irritation she couldn't tell, and spoke in a low, gruff tone.

“Lemme guess,” he sighed, sounding resigned. “Come to call me a freak too?”

Maka blinked. At least he was straightforward. “No.” She answered simply.

If anything, he grew more skeptical. “What, then? The rumors? Yes, I'm from Death City. As for the rest of it, I don't know what the hell you people think of me, I stopped listening after a while,” he growled. “It's all the same anyway. I've kind of stopped caring.”

Maka shook her head, daring to take another couple steps forward. “No,” she replied again. He didn't step back, but he did lean back slightly. She could tell he was uncomfortable, and stopped in the middle of the basketball court, roughly ten feet away from him.

His eyes narrowed. “What then?” He growled through clenched teeth. “What the hell do you want?”

He was being difficult on purpose. She fought down the urge to sigh in frustration and simply looked back at him, keeping her expression neutral. “I just wanted to say hello, introduce myself, let you know that I understand you.”

He scowled. “I sincerely doubt that. I don't even know you, and I doubt you know me.”

She looked back at him evenly. “I never said that I knew you, just that I understand you. I figured that since you were new in town, I'd welcome you to the city, maybe try to help you out if you'll let me.”

At his surprised blink, she added, “No one else seems to feel like being very welcoming.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, looking off to the side. “Yeah, no shit.”

Maka was about to introduce herself as promised, until she noticed that he was still looking off to the side, and that his posture was tensed and his eyes hardened. She followed his gaze to see a group of boys headed their way, specifically, for him. She didn't know any of their names, but judging by the letter jackets and their builds, she assumed them to be of the popular jock crowd. She noticed the boy glaring at her, as if he believed that she had set him up for this, until he saw that she was glaring at the jocks too.

“Hey, freak,” the one who appeared to be the leader called as he approached the court. “What do you think you're doing? Get away from the poor girl.” At Maka's offended snort, he turned to her and blinked before sneering at her. “Oh. It's just Albarn. Never mind, then. Guess you freaks have to stick together.”

Maka noticed the boy twitch in irritation, but whether he was mad because the jock had insulted her or because he had insulted him she wasn't sure. At this point she didn't care, currently rooting around in her own bag for her calculus book, which then sailed through the air and connected with the jock's head before anyone could react. He dropped to his backside and rubbed at his forehead as his friends all crowded around him. She was vaguely aware of a pair of wide crimson eyes staring at her with something akin to awe, or possibly fear, but she was too angry, and focused too much on her target, to care.

As the jock stood up, and his friends moved aside, she felt a small, crazy part of her celebrating at the sheer size of the welt the book had left, a more sensible part of her worry that they would be destroying her textbook for it, and another, far larger, part of her realize what a mistake that had been as he leveled her with a heavy, venomous glare. Most boys made it a point not to hit girls, but it didn't look much like he cared about that unspoken rule at the moment. Not only had he been injured... by a girl no less, but she had also bruised his pride in front of all his friends and the school freak. Not that she was ever considered normal or even very well liked, but that wasn't the issue at hand.

“You're going to pay for that one, Albarn.” He growled, slowly advancing on her. She backed up slowly, looking for a chance to run, her eyes focused on his face. She showed no fear, as her mother had taught her growing up. She could also tell that the fierce, defiant, yet cautious look she had on her face was unnerving the advancing jock, but not enough to stop him. He was probably just wary of her having any more books on her person. Her bag was forgotten off to the side.

Suddenly her back hit a wall, and she cursed mentally for not looking where she was going. She was trapped. The jock grinned and raised his fist, confirming her fears that yes, he was going to hit her... and then he mysteriously seemed to lose his balance. More specifically, his knees crumpled out from under him, and she dodged quickly to the side, letting him go face first into the wall. She stared at him for a while, moving back a few more steps as he slowly pulled himself up to his hands and knees and glared behind him. She followed the jock's gaze to see the white haired boy standing behind him, hands still in his pockets, one foot still raised slightly in the air from when he had delivered a sharp kick to the back of the jock's legs, buckling his knees out from under him. The jock lashed out with his own leg, but the smaller boy easily jumped back, avoiding the kick.

Maka watched in interest and slight amusement as the jock got up and aimed a few more punches and kicks at the boy, who nimbly dodged every blow, all the time never removing his hands from his pockets, his eyes focused, but bored. That only seemed to anger the older boy more, and his strikes got more erratic. The boy finally rolled his eyes, sighed, muttered something along the lines of “pathetic” and slid one hand out of his pocket to land a solid blow on the jock's chin with the heel of his hand.

The jock stopped flailing at the boy to grip his chin, eyes clamped shut in pain, and the boy winced slightly and shook out his hand before returning it to his pocket, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and heading towards Maka. He didn't seem to notice one of the jock's friends finally deciding to make a move, advancing quickly and quietly on the boy's back. Maka was about to warn him when he suddenly heard the jock approach and whirled, right arm extended slightly as if to protect her, and left arm pointed at the taller boy.

The jock froze. Everyone froze. Maka, only able to see the white haired boy's back because of his close proximity to her, slowly peered over his shoulder. The look on the face of the jock in front of them could only be described as sheer, abject terror for his life. She looked around at the other jocks, and noticed similar expressions on all their faces. She also noticed that the younger boy was shaking. In fear, anger, or something else, she couldn't tell. She couldn't see his face. His left shoulder looked strange, and for a bad second she thought he was hurt, until her gaze traveled down his left arm, and her eyes widened in surprise.

His left arm was gone.

In its place was a long, curved blade, decorated with a jagged red and black pattern, pointed straight at the jock's throat.

The boy grinned savagely, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “There,” he murmured, so quietly Maka almost didn't hear him. His voice shook as much as his body. “There,” he said again, louder so that everyone could hear him, his voice eerily calm. “Are you satisfied?” The jock he held at blade point only gulped and finally tore his eyes from the large blade at his throat to the livid eyes of the boy attached to it, the unnerving feral grin still firmly in place. Even Maka had to admit the boy's expression was somewhat disturbing.

“Are you _FUCKING_ SATISFIED?!” He roared, swinging his blade-arm away from the older boy's throat. In a brief flash, the blade was once again replaced by his arm. He clenched it into a fist at his side, even as his right arm still hovered protectively in front of Maka. The jock collapsed in front of him and scrambled backwards in an awkward crab walk. Maka would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. The boy's secret was out, and he didn't seem too happy about it at all.

He watched the jock scramble away before turning his gaze to the first jock, who was still holding his jaw. He flinched back visibly when the boy's gaze fell on him and looked very much like he wanted to either dig a hole or wet his pants. Somewhere in the back of her mind Maka acknowledged that she'd pay to see either.

“Yes,” he growled at the jock. “You're right. You were all right. No point in hiding it I guess when the WHOLE FUCKING _SCHOOL_ doesn't seem to want to believe otherwise. Where I come from it's nothing special, but I guess around here it makes me a fucking FREAK. But it's not a curse. If you really must refer to my... condition, as you all seem to like calling it, I'm a Weapon. That's all. I'm not a freak. It's not a curse. I was born this way. It's rare outside of Death City, I know, but that doesn't give you bastards ANY RIGHT to belittle me over something that's an inextricable part of me. At least not behind my back like you all seem to enjoy doing. If you have a problem with me, say it to my face.”

The jock who had had a blade to his throat earlier suddenly spoke up. “You... You're dangerous. How the hell did you get into this school?”

“Dangerous? _Dangerous_?!” He laughed then, a sound that, to Maka, was genuine and full of humor, but to the jocks seemed to be frightening. “Oh, God...” he cackled, doubled over in an effort to breathe. “You guys are rich. First you go after a girl, then you call me dangerous after coming here with the intent of beating ME to a bloody pulp, or stuffing me in a trash bin or whatever... ha ha...” He broke down again, Maka finding it hard to contain her own giggles. His laughter was contagious.

“At least...” he broke down into giggles again before trying again. “At least I can deal with things I don't understand without trying to destroy them.” He suddenly stopped laughing and stood upright, glaring at the leader of the group of jocks. “That being said,” he continued, voice serious. “Who's the dangerous one? Me? Or you? Something to think about.”

With that, he bent down, picked up his bag, and strode over to where Maka's book lay near the other jocks who hadn't moved since they arrived. They all backed up from him quickly as he approached, but he only scowled at them and bent down to retrieve the textbook before turning back, grabbing Maka's bag on his way back to her.

The jocks quickly left the area as he approached Maka, probably to tell the whole school what had just transpired, but at the moment he was finding it hard to care. He held her book bag up to her, and she took it with a muttered thanks, suddenly feeling shy and finding her shoes very interesting.

“You said you understood me,” he said suddenly, causing her to look back up at him, expecting him to be angry, but he just looked tired, drained. “Now that you know what I am,” he sighed, and then looked her straight in the eyes, daring her to look away. “Can you still say that?”

Maka's gaze, and her resolve, never wavered in her answer. “Yes.”

He blinked, and his eyebrows rose in slight interest before he spoke again. “Interesting. Mind if I ask why?”

She thought for a moment. “Because calling you a freak would be the same as calling my papa a freak.” At his questioning glance, she went on. “My parents are from Death City. My papa's a Weapon too.”

His eyes widened in surprise and she went on. “I said I understood you because I'm considered a freak here too, but for different reasons. Mostly because I just like to study and read more than most people. But to find out that you're a Weapon, too...” She smiled up at him. “That's just one more unique thing about you.”

He blinked. She didn't consider him weird or creepy. Even people who didn't know about his bloodline would call him less than flattering things on his appearance alone. He suddenly wondered how this perfectly normal looking girl was as ostracized as he was. He realized with a little regret that she'd probably have an even harder time about it now, being associated with him, but... the fact that she knew about him, and didn't treat him any differently than before she saw the blade...

He wanted to trust her. He wanted to trust her so badly. And he didn't even know her name.

The bell rang suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts and signaling that lunch period was over. He sighed and dug his schedule out of his bag, scanning it for his next class. He noticed her looking curiously at his schedule, before frowning in disappointment.

“Aw, you're not in any of my classes.” She pouted, and he couldn't stop the small chuckle that escaped him.

“Well you can help me out a little bit,” he replied, and she glanced up at him. “You know where this classroom is? I've been looking for it all day.”

She glanced at the room number he pointed to, and nodded. “Room 401? It's on the side of the gym. It's kinda hidden, probably why you never found it.”

“Ah, cool.” He nodded, folding the paper and stuffing it back in his bag. “I should probably head off in that direction then so I can find it. But first...” He hitched his bag up on his shoulder and held his hand out to her. “Soul Eater Evans.”

She blinked at him and smiled before taking his hand in a firm grip. “Maka Albarn.”

He blinked at her and seemed to regard her differently. “Albarn... That's a famous name in Death City. Any relation to Spirit and Kami Albarn?

She blushed, slightly embarrassed at the way he looked at her. “Yeah... they're my parents.

Soul blinked again. “Oh, that's right... you said your father was a weapon. Man, I feel dumb now.”

Maka shook her head and smiled at him, and suddenly thought of something. “Hey... can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” Soul looked up at her expectantly.

“Well... it's kinda personal, so you don't have to answer of you don't want to... but...” She fidgeted slightly, but Soul only cocked his head, waiting for her question.

“What kind of Weapon are you?”

Soul raised his eyebrows in surprise before he smirked at her. “Well I have a question for you. Your mother's a famous Meister, and your father a high ranking Weapon... Which are you?”

Now it was Maka's turn to blink. “Mama said I have Meister blood, and a strong soul... I haven't shown any signs of Weapon blood, and at this point it's likely I never will. But... aside from my papa a couple times, I've never really wielded a Weapon, and our wavelengths don't sync enough to do anything special. I can only swing him around a couple times before he gets too heavy.”

Soul smiled. “A Meister, huh...?” He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

“Have you ever had a Meister, Soul?” She asked.

“Hm? Nah. I did go to Shibusen, but I wasn't there very long. I learned how to control my form and my soul wavelengths a little, but I never did find a partner who could even wield me before I moved. As for the question of what kind of Weapon I am...” He grinned down at her. “Why don't you meet me here after school and see for yourself?”

The two minute warning bell rang then, and Soul turned to leave for his class, waving lazily with one hand and tossing a grin at her over his shoulder before he turned the corner and was gone. He hadn't waited for her answer, but she was pretty sure he knew what it was.


End file.
